Free
by Cat in Disguise
Summary: Grief, pain, confusion, guilt. All the emotions threatening to consume me . . . Ezio's POV after his family's execution. warnings inside


**Very first AC fan fiction! Yay! As usual, I own nothing except the story**

**This story takes places after the execution but before Ezio meets up with Annetta**

**Warning: Extreme angst and sort-of depression**

* * *

><p>I rushed half-blind through the roads and back alleys of the city I had explored my entire life. Each twist and turn in the pathways, every hidden entrance to an alleyway, they all created an internal map to follow to solitude. But for as familiar as the paths felt beneath my feet, somehow they seemed alien and contaminated.<p>

These streets, these people, this _city_, it all lied to me, and I couldn't have been more oblivious to that fact. Just going on with my life without suspecting anything, and never bothering to ask questions about anything that didn't interest me at the time. My family had been under constant threats even before I began to aid my father in his work, and I still remained oblivious to how my father had been suffering. If only I'd been there for him, for my brothers.

If only I'd been by their side, maybe they wouldn't be gone . . .

Finally spotting the ladder leading to an abandoned rooftop garden, I scaled it and clambered into the structure, hearing the thick cloth fluttering back into place behind me. I sat with my arms folded and rested on my knees, shoulders heaving as I gasp for air. A mixture of panic, adrenaline, and exhaustion filled most of the space in my lungs, but gradually oxygen reclaimed its rightful place.

Carefully, I pressed my ear to the wooden construction, listening intently for any sounds of pursuit. Several minutes later, after even the muted skittering of pebbles had faded away, I relaxed back into the comforting shade. With the peace, however, came the throbbing of unattended wounds, more specifically, in my right calf, the area just below the abdomen, and behind my eyes. But by far the worst originated from my left wrist, where the guard had knocked the blade out of my hand. I rolled up my sleeve, or at least attempted to, because the moment I removed the cloth from my wrist, I had to clamp down on my tongue to keep from screaming.

The flesh where my wrist met my hand burned blood red. Alarmingly dark bruises marred the skin all the way up to the base of my fingers. Experimentally, I flexed my hand in an attempt to form a fist. My digits curled less than halfway before I stopped in my action, fresh agony arcing down my spine, a hiss escaping my gritted teeth. So the bone was not broken, but not completely intact, either. I could practically hear Federico mildly fretting over my injury. 'The doctor will have to take a look at that before it gets any worse' he would scold as he ushers me towards the nearest stand. My father would reprimand me briefly, but secretly be extremely concerned for his son.

"Father . . . brother . . ." My voice . . . he barely recognized it as my own anymore. Faint, trembling, and broken, the rest of the words faded from my tongue as my throat thickened with grief. Every ounce of repressed anguish and self-loathing swelled into a collection of overwhelming sorrow which all poured out as tears. Each droplet tracked its way onto my rapidly dampening sleeves while shuddering sobs wracked my entire body. My muscles twitched with minute spasms as my body trembled under the immense weight of overwhelming grief.

While the tears flowed, memories stirred to life at the back of my mind. One memory long repressed of a trip to a city overseas with my father for business. I had not been very impressed with its structural integrity, but the joy of the precious moments spent with my father glorified everything to the point that the city became like a god's dwelling place in my childlike mind. Another memory arose, a bit more recent, of Federico and I venturing to the snowy plains of the countryside to collect a rare herb for mother.

That time . . . that time revealed the majesty and power of the eagle to me, and the keening wail of longing that blazed through my very core. Days afterwards, my father began to train my 'other vision' and the ways of the eagle. The way it soars, climbs, swoops, and strikes, with such grace, eventually shadowed my movements. My father's training . . . my brother's gift . . . they constantly looked out for me, and –

And they still are. The realization dawned swiftly, catching my breath in my throat. Any number of guards could have found and killed me by now, and yet they hadn't. I could have been mortally wounded attempting to flee the execution site, but escaped with minimal injuries. My family, even in death, is with me, protecting me, sending a silent message that called to me from my bones. '_Live, Ezio. Live on, and accomplish what we could not. Do not strive to become us, what we were. Strive to surpass us.' _

The tears had long since ceased, along with the tremors. All tension in my muscles had evaporated, and the pain of my wrist now consisted of a dull ache. Silently, I rose to my feet, passing my gloved hand over my eyes just once, and then lowering the dusty hood over my head. I slid out of the hutch, glancing around as I leaped onto a extended post. A young golden eagle perched at the edge. Instead of flying away, it turned to face me and gave a soft cry. Gently, I stroked its feathers and watched it take off. I face the city, surveying the layout of the buildings, tracking down any hidden secrets it contains.

I straightened into a standing position, extending my arms outward, imagining them as powerful wings as the wind tugged at my robe. With it, the wind brought the crisp promise of an early winter, along with the solemn oath of new challenges. Before I leaped forward, I allowed a smile upon my lips. I felt so alive, so light.

I felt free.

* * *

><p><strong>And that wraps THAT up! It's just an idea I've had for a while<strong>

**Any-who, constructive critisism is allowed, but pointless flames are not. thanks!**


End file.
